Текст книги "Fire Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-Four

We leave immediately. Well, nearly. Just as soon as we pack up, grab a few weapons, and pause for a moment so Skye can hack off the majority of my long, dark locks. At first I’m horrified, on the verge of tears as I hold the thick hair in my hands. But then I run my fingers over my scalp and I feel…really searin’ good. Lighter and more in control. Like a Wilde One. If I see my father, at least he’ll know exactly where I stand.

We hold a council ’fore we leave. No one’s beng forced to go. Wilde simply states the facts, asks for each and every Wilde’s help, and then gives everyone the option to stay or go. “There’s no shame in staying behind,” she says.

Everyone wants to fight, Crya included, for which I’m glad. We might not get along, but she’s one scorch of a fighter and we’ll need her. We’ll need everyone.

We take enough food and water for two days, ’cause we need to travel light, and ’cause if we don’t make it there in that amount of time, there won’t be anything left of the village and we’ll be able to scavenge all the food and water we want. And if we do make it and manage to help the Hunters defend the village, we’ll surely be welcome to partake of whatever meager stores they’ve got. And if my father don’t like it, he’ll have my fists and feet to answer to.

We run during the first night, while the air is warm, rather’n hot. Our bows and sheathed blades click and clatter as we trot along, a hundred girls strong, with the Dead Snake River on our left. Surprised ’zards scurry out of our path, diving for their holes. A pack of Cotees prowls nearby, but a well-loosed pointer in their general direction scatters them away. The trip is so different this time.

When the sun comes up we continue on, but slow our pace to that of long walking strides, so as to lessen the effect of the harsh summer sun on our energy levels. We drink and eat without stopping.

The moment the sun reaches its apex in the red, cloudless sky, we stop. No one talks. We simply drop on command, find the softest ground we can, and fall into a restless sleep.

~~~

The moment the sun’s heat falters, we run. Although all the conditioning work we’ve been doing was miserable and painful at the time, I’m thankful for it now. No one lags, no one crumbles from exhaustion. We’re like separate parts of the same creature, moving as one across the desert.

’Fore the sun comes up again we’ve left the dried up river far behind. Today we run beyond the sun’s apex, sacrificing some energy and sleep to gain ground. For all we know, the Glassies are already upon the Heaters.

But eventually we hafta stop, to rest, to sleep.

I’m sweaty and stiff and achy, but as determined as ever. I might be dead tomorrow, but today I’m alive.

~~~

When I awake it’s already dark. T’other Wildes are gathering up their things, preparing to leave. I start doing the same.

“Wildes!” Wilde says. Everyone stops what they’re doing, cranes their necks in her direction, where she stands on a large flat rock. Crya and Brione are at her sides, loyal now, regardless of previous arguments. I gain a bit of respect for Crya seeing her like that.

“Today we fight for a people who would hunt us down and make us their slaves. A people who we left because we didn’t fit in, didn’t agree with their customs and Laws. But today isn’t about any of that, because they’re threatened by others who would destroy them from the face of the earth for reasons we may never know. Just because they can perhaps. We don’t do it out of the goodness of our hearts, or because we still have friends and family in the village, but because it’s the right thing to do. Today we show them who the Wildes really are!”

A cheer goes up and I find myself joining in, yelling my tired lungs out, relishing the burn in my parched throat. I throw back my head and scream till I can’t scream no more, spotting Circ’s starry gaze smiling down on me, my silent protector.

For the final night, we run. My legs feel as fresh and light and full of energy as that first night. The miles fall away like the leaves from the trees in ice country.

When day breaks, we see the village.

~~~

The village reminds me of my mother, of growing up, of Circ. It also reminds me of Bart’s hot, foul breath, his weight on me, feeling weak, helpless. I cast away the memories like shards of useless stone. None of that matters now.

We made it in time. From a safe distance away behind the dunes, the village almost looks peaceful. Beyond the guard towers, people emerge from their tents, rubbing their eyes and yawning, starting cook fires and bringing in hanging laundry, like it’s just any other day. But one look at the guard towers and we know it’s a mirage. At the top they’re stuffed with Hunters, looking in every direction, ensuring they spot the Glassies at the earliest moment possible. And below, dozens of Hunters milling about, sharpening blades, testing the tension on their bowstrings, securing leather armor to their bodies. Not a normal day. A day of war.

The rest of the Wildes are hidden away behind the biggest dune in the near vicinity, and I was only allowed to tag along ’cause of Skye. The three leaders are beside us, speaking in whispers. Me, I’m afraid to even breathe, for fear that the village lookouts’ll spot me and I’ll ruin everything. I’m determined not to do anything stupid today. A couple of pricklers laugh at me. Perry says hi, they say. After this is all over I think I might have MedMa take a look at my brain. (Although I’m not sure how he’d do that—through my ear maybe?)

The sun’s rising fast and already it’s sweltering; the hottest day yet. With a shock I notice the plentiful amount of scrubgrass growing ’round the village. The stuff is everywhere, practically right up to the border tents. Dangerous. By now, the Heaters would normally have pulled it all out and burned it. Perhaps amongst all their other problems it seemed like a small one. Very dangerous.

I’m continuing to scan the village when I see him. My father, striding from guard tower to guard tower, rallying the troops. I can almost hear his voice. They’re coming. The Glassies are coming.

As if to confirm what my father seems to already know, there’s a shout, and the men in the towers scramble down, waving their arms and pointing to the southeast. Our heads move in a collective swing in that direction.

We see them immediately. A Glassy army. They come tearing over the dunes on their chariots, which growl like animals, spinning dust and durt from the wheels that seem to propel them along. The men are holding glinting fire sticks and waving them in the air like spears. Against the stark whiteness of the desert, their pale skin blends in, making them appear as a strange moving blob, dotted and streaked with black.

Time to move.

“It’s burnin’ on,” Skye says, the first to pull back.

The others follow her, Brione and Crya and Wilde, but I linger, watching the village. The women are screaming and hurding their children toward the huts, while the men—and even the Younglings, some so young-looking they might be Midders—race for the rally point, a guard tower at the southern edge of the border tents, where my father’s already assembled a large group of Hunters. Today they fight for their survival, and we fight with them.

“Sie! Come on!” Skye shouts, having realized I didn’t follow her.

We run back to t’others, where Wilde is standing ’fore them, speaking. “…and you are all my sisters,” she says, firmness and emotion in her clear voice. Despite the pounding of my heart and the shortness of my breath, her voice instantly calms me, like it always does, like spring rains on the desert sand.

“Today we stand for those who can’t defend themselves, against a soulless enemy who destroys because it can. We will not remain idle while the freedom of others is threatened. Not when we have the power to do something about it. And we do have the power. As individuals we are strong, as Wildes we are invincible!”

A cheer goes up that surely both the Glassies and Heaters’ll hear, but stealth doesn’t matter now.

The moment of death is upon us.

~~~

With whoops and hollers, we launch ourselves into the desert.

The battle’s already begun and the work of death waits for nobody. Streams of Hunters pour from the village, as volleys of pointers zip like flocks of birds overhead. A Glassy chariot crashes when its driver is killed by a pointer, straight through his chest. It flips, bounces, bashes into another chariot, which spins wildly ’fore crashing against a prickler, toppling it.

Thunderous booms sound across the desert but the sky is clear. It ain’t thunder, but the Glassies’ fire sticks, exploding and hurting anyone in their path. Hunters drop in waves, but are quickly replaced by a new line. The two forces move steadily closer. My initial exhilaration turns to fear.

What’ve I done?

Another chariot crashes, filled with pointers and blood.

We’re close now and both the Glassies and Hunters seem to simultaneously realize they’re not alone. Shouts erupt from both sides of the desert.

The lead archer brings us up short while Skye, Brione, and their warriors—which include Lara—charge ahead. On her signal, we nock our pointers, aim high above the Wilde warriors.

“Now!” she screams.

A chorus of twangs hums in my ears as our pointers are loosed. Dozens of Glassies die, but I can’t tell whether my pointer was involved. At least half the Glassy fire sticks turn our way, booming intermittently. Wilde warriors drop like twigs of scrubgrass. I can’t tell if Skye or Lara got hit.

A strangled groan gurgles from my throat. So much death. So much. I string another pointer on command. Release it, try to watch its flight. Almost miraculously, it embeds itself in the chest of a Glassy on foot, who was aiming his fire stick toward the Wildes. His legs crumble and his fire stick falls harmlessly aside.

We manage one more deluge of pointers ’fore our warriors get too close to risk hitting them. “Charge!” the lead archer shouts. We take off, carrying our bows in one hand and a pointer in the other.

I glance toward the village, where the number of Hunters is dwindling already. If we didn’t arrive when we did…

The thought catches in my throat.

Just then, however, a second wave of Hunters races from the village, clutching bows, like us. The archers.

So much is happening, I can’t keep up with it, my head swiveling back and forth. Wilde warriors are dying. Glassies are dying. Hunters are mostly dead. Not Skye or Lara, please not them, I plead with the sun goddess, who’s at war, too, her eye beating down upon us with fury at our mindless violence.

There’s a raucous shout from the south. Dozens of Glassy chariots growl over the dunes. The second wave.

There’re too many.

It’s over.

~~~

A hand grabs me from behind, twists me ’round.

I swing my bow at my attacker, catch him in the face, but still he holds on. “Siena, hold up, it’s me.” The warmest voice I’ve ever heard.

Through the tangle of our grappling arms, I see him. The Marked One. Feve.

The last person I expected to see. Or wanted to see.

“You!” I say, dropping my bow and swinging at him with clenched fists.

“Siena, stop,” he says, blocking my fists.

But I don’t stop, can’t stop. If it wasn’t for him, the Hunters woulda never found us—so many lives woulda been saved. “This is your fault!” I scream, kicking at him.

Cries of pain and death are all ’round, but I’m trapped in this weird place with a person I’d hoped to never see again. “Sie, I can explain…”

His words are grains of sand and I’m the wind, full of sandstorm fury. I wail on him and he doesn’t try to defend himself. “I can fix things!” he screams and I stop.

“Fix things! Look ’round you, Feve.” I wave my hand at the battle happening beyond us. “There’s no fixing this.”

His face seems to crumble when he sees what I mean—

BOOM!

A Hunter drops, his chest red—

A Glassy wanders aimlessly, a Hunter spear protruding from both his stomach and back—

A Wilde warrior strikes down a Glassy with a swift slash of her blade—

I spot Skye, graceful and powerful, hacking at half a dozen Glassies near her, who seem shocked by the intensity of her violence. One of them raises a fire stick.

I dive for my bow, snatching a pointer from my back in one swift motion, perhaps the most graceful moment of my life, my heart hammering outside of me, my eyes held open by determination…

I take aim.

The Glassy fires, a burst of red and black flame shooting from the end. Noo! No, Skye, no!

She doesn’t drop, doesn’t fill with red.

He missed! The searin’ Glassy missed!

Flames burst from the ground beyond Skye, as if his shot has rebounded and is coming for her. The flame quickly spreads, rippling orange and red, racing along the desert floor, devouring the scrubgrass and licking at the dead and injured bodies littering the durt. The wind changes, gusting north, and the fire turns with it, roaring toward the village.

A firestorm. Ten times worse’n a sandstorm.

Sun goddess save us all.

Chapter Thirty-Five

As I watch in horror at the spreading fire, I see a flash of movement from the corner of my eye. The Glassy, shocked at first by the fire he started, takes aim at Skye, who’s slashed down every blade-bearing opponent ’round her.

’Cept for him.

I raise my bow, trying not to quiver. Find my target. Steady, steady. Twang!

The sound is crisp and sharp and perfect. The Glassy clutches the shaft of the pointer in his neck as he falls.

Skye jerks ’round, her eyes wide, her face taut, sees me. Frowns when she sees the Marked One beside me. “They’ll be here any moment,” says the warm voice that I hate.

“They’re already here, you idiot!” I scream. “Are you blind!” The air is full of smoke and I cough, choking on the noxious gas. I gasp as the wind changes again and the fire winds a circle ’round us through the scrubgrass.

A horn sounds, surrounding us, as if it’s in league with the fire, making it impossible to figure out the direction of its origin. “Not them,” Feve says. “Them.” He motions to the west, where the dunes are suddenly filled with hundreds of brown bodies, their skin marked, a stampede of men and life.

The ground rumbles as they approach and I know I should be scared, ’cause they’re charging right toward me, but I can only watch in awe as, like a hurd, they move as one, brandishing strange black-handled weapons with dual blades. They dance ’round and jump through the snaking cords of fire.

The moment they reach us, Feve lets out a guttural cry and melts into them, heading for the Glassies, who have stopped fighting, as stunned as me. The Marked collide with the first of the enemy, cutting them down ’fore they can even consider retreating. A few Glassies start shooting their fire sticks, but it’s like throwing a pebble at a watering hole to try to empty it. All you get is a ripple when what you need is a wave.

With renewed vigor the remaining Hunters and Wilde warriors start fighting, chasing after the Glassies, who finally have the sense to retreat. They cut them down, not stopping until they’re all dead, badly injured, or racing away on their chariots.

Only then, with my heart pounding, my throat dry, my hands shaking, do I let myself believe that we’ve won.

I crouch down in a circle of unburnt land, hug my knees, and, amidst a fiery inferno, thank the sun goddess.

~~~

“He wants to burnin’ talk to you,” Skye says. “But I tol’ ’im he could shove it up his blaze shooter.”

Normally my sister’s antics and uncouth way of speaking would make me smile, but not after the blood I’ve seen spilt today. Brione’s dead. Crya, too. Lara pulled through although I’m told I can’t see her yet, ’cause she’s being attended to by a few of the Marked, whose healing skills are coming in handy considering MedMa’s the only one in the village who can help.

So when I hear Skye’s words today, I can only sigh.

“I’ll talk to him,” I say, wondering why I say it. I reach a hand into the smoky air, batting at the wisps of gray as if they’re something tangible I can knock away. My fingers go right through the haze. The village was spared, barely, whether by the sun goddess’s will or Mother Nature’s fickle sense of pity. The wind’s changed, pushed the brush fires far, far away, off into the desert. Those who are least injured and not attending to the wounded are busily chopping away the tufts of grass and foliage closest to the village, just in case the fire returns.

“Just let ’im die,” she says.

My head jerks up and my eyes meet Skye’s. “He’s dying?”

“Searin’ right.”

I hesitate. My stomach feels light as a raft of emotions tumble through it. Relief is definitely there. A tang of celebration for sure. But, to my horror, there’s a touch of sadness, too. Why I should be sad ’bout the death of the man who ruined my life—who ruined all our lives—I do not know. I guess ’cause I still have the memories of the good times, ’fore he became a monster, ’fore he turned his back on everyone and everything but himself.

“I’m going,” I say. I should be helping the cleanup efforts, but this is something I hafta do.

I hafta.

Skye shrugs. “Yer call. Want some company?”

I shake my head. “I hafta do this on my own.”

I feel numb as she leads me through the village, past cries of pain as fire stick pellets are pried outta Hunters’ skin with hot pokers, past hobbling Wildes, who are both bleeding and grinning, just like my sisters should. The Marked are everywhere, dark and menacing and serious, and I look for Feve—I’m not sure why—but I don’t see him. Questions flash through my mind. Why did he come? Why did he bring his people? Why did they save us?

I shudder when I realize where Skye’s taking me. We enter the section of Greynote huts, following a route that’s as familiar to me as my own bellybutton. She pushes through the door of our old hut. Inside, darkness awaits.

The first thing I see is my mother’s bed, where she lay dying the night of my Call. The bed she dragged herself out of, to help me, to save me, to kill for me. I imagine her still there, not stricken, but healthy, alive. The image vanishes when I hear a groan.

“Go, Skye,” I say. She touches my shoulder briefly, and then leaves. Behind his curtain, my father cries out again. A voice murmurs something to him. “Who’s there?” I ask.

Feve steps out.

“You!” I say.

“Me,” he replies calmly.

“How dare you? Get out!” I have so many questions I wanna ask him, but none of them spring to mind. All I can think of is getting as far away from him as possible.

“Siena, please,” he says.

“What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming with my father even on his death bed? You’re a real baggard.”

“I know,” he says. “I screwed up. Your father…he was very convincing. He offered me a lot in return for watching you the night of your Call, following you if you escaped—skins and food and wood—things we desperately needed. We’ve been working together with the Greynotes for a long time, trading our services in exchange for goods that only your father can get from the Icers.”

Although I’m surprised to hear that the Greynotes have a secret agreement with the Marked, I don’t wanna hear ’bout it now. “And all you hadta give him was your soul,” I say coldly.

“I didn’t know, Siena. I swear!”

“Are you so daft as to not realize what he’d do the moment he knew where the Wilde Ones were? He tried to kill us!”

“I thought he just wanted you back. To bring you home. To keep you safe. I believed him.”

“Then you’re dumber’n a tug stuck in the mud,” I say.

“I’ll make this right,” he says, touching my hand as he passes. I pull away sharply, wiping my hand on my clothes.

“There’s nothing you can do to make it right,” I say.

Head down, he leaves.

~~~

When I pull the curtain away, I gasp. It’s my father on the bed, but not how I remember him. His eyes are closed, hiding his dark and brooding eyes. Dried flecks of blood are crusted on his lips and cheeks. His face is broken with pain.

“Sienaaaah,” he murmurs.

“I came here for me, not for you,” I say, keeping my distance.

His eyes creep open to slits, and then widen slightly when he sees me. “You’ve changed,” he says. “You look different.”

“I’m better for having left this place,” I say.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he says, his voice weak and unsteady.

“Name ’em!” I demand, dead set on hearing him admit what he’s done.

“I should’ve listened to you—to what you wanted,” he croaks.

“Searin’ right,” I mutter.

“I thought Bearing was the right path for you, for all the women…” He almost sounds penitent, but I ain’t about to let him feel better ’bout himself.

“Bearing’s fine,” I say, “but you can’t force it. And you can’t force who we do it with!” My voice is rising.

“I don’t know why the Icers are keeping us out,” he rasps, his voice fading.

“’Cause they’re afraid of catching the Fire,” I say.

“Don’t make sense,” he gasps. “They have a cure. Why would they be scared?”

His question stops me. I’d never really thought ’bout that. Why indeed. But that’s a question for another time. Now, he’s just ducking all the mistakes he’s made.

“You killed Mother,” I say.

“No, I didn’t help her. There’s a difference.”

“No there’s not!” I scream, rushing forward. I grab him by the throat, squeeze. My hand is shaking, not with fear or uncertainty, but with power, with strength. This is the moment I been waiting for. Vengeance’ll be mine.

“Wait,” he rasps. “Circ…”

I release him slightly, maintaining a firm grip. “Don’t you speak of him. You got no right. You killed him, too.” My head’s throbbing with rage. This man has taken everything from me.

Everything.

“No. I’m sorry, I never should have…” His voice falters and he gasps.

I let go, my shoulders slumping. I can’t kill a man who’s already dying. “You never shoulda what?” I say. “I wanna hear you say it.”

He licks his chapped lips, wheezes, says, “I never should have fooled you, Siena.”

“What? You’re not making no sense. You NEVER fooled me. I found out everything, Father, did you know that? I snuck outta my cage in Confinement, saw the lifers—the innocent people you framed—slaving away. All for what? So you could get your precious cure for the Fire and outlive us all? You’re disgusting.”

“Not…what I…meant,” he slurs, fading fast.

“Get to the point then, Father. What the scorch are you trying to say?”

“Circ,” he moans. “All fake. Not really dead.”